


heart of a foreign god

by SparkleMoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Inhuman Lucis Caelums, Inhuman Nox Fleurets, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revolution, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, because magic makes that line all too thin, by which i mean we get a pov of noctis and where is the line between man and monster?, why are those not tags yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: His family is one that preaches. A family made of priests and priestess, of those who hear the mutters of the Astrals and the Dead.Mordred's family is a family of those who listen. But that does not stop Niflheim from coming, that does not stop Galahd from falling. It does little to prevent the end of everything Mordred loves so Mordred begins to pay little attention to the whispers that haunt him.But Bahamut's voice gets louder with each year that passes, and when Mordred runs into a childhood friend at Taka's and is asked to go with them on their first few Hunts Mordred finds himself following a Gods order for the first time in years.Go with them, Bahamut said and Mordred does.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	1. hear, feel, speak

**Author's Note:**

> *hands you a new fic hands you a new fic hands you a new fi-*  
> ahem  
> anyway, the lcs and nfs are only SLIGHTLY inhuman here! Not fully! but still enough to warrant the tag!
> 
> Except Ardyn, he went all monster on everyone a long time ago.
> 
> (he still gets what he wants tho)  
> (no its not what youre thinking)

**And the grace of the gods (I’m pretty sure) is a grace that comes by violence.**  
**-An Oresteia, Trans. Anne Carson**

* * *

It is one thing to tell someone dead that they are dead. It is another thing to tell someone alive that they have died. And perhaps Mordred should be grateful, grateful that he has never had someone tell him that he had died. Perhaps Mordred should be grateful that the day he remembered his past life was the day Galahd fell, the day that he screamed himself hoarse and begged, pleaded with the Astrals to do something, to stop his home from falling.

Of course Gods have never listened to the pleas of men. They may hear the cries of their worshipers, of those devout and those not, but that does not mean they are obliged to answer.

* * *

Mordred comes from a family of Hearers. Los Que Oyen, they are called in the Old Tongue, Those Who Hear. His family hears the words of both the Astrals and those who have died, they are blessed, the people of Galahd say, to be so near to the gods and yet remain human. The people of Galahd do not see either the Lucis Caelums or the line of Oracles as human, not truly, and while Galahdian’s might not think of either of them as monsters they think that it wouldn’t take much to turn either a Nox Fleuret or a Lucis Caelum into one. The two lines are closer to the Astrals than anyone else on this Star after all, it only makes sense that if the scales tipped one way more than the other that one of them could turn monstrous.

Better to be in bed with what may be a monster, they say their last Queen reasoned, than to go to war with one.

Mordred is from neither line, the whims of Gods mean little to him as long as they keep their promise to the humans they proclaim to protect. And so Mordred listens to the muttering of Titan, the rumbling laughter of Ramuh, and the soft whispers of Leviathan. He hears Shiva’s screams, Ifrit’s laughter, and Bahamut’s booming voice, and yet despite it all, despite the voices of Gods dancing in his head he pays more attention to the Dead.

Those who have passed are overlooked by many in his family, and Mordred cannot say why he gives them more attention. Surely the Astrals would be better guides for the Clans he would grow up to guide. The Astrals exist everywhere and nowhere after all, surely they would have better advice.

But Mordred cannot bring himself to ignore the dead. And so he listens.

* * *

Each Hearer is given a Speaker, one who speaks to the leaders of the clans both Hearer and Speaker were chosen to guide. Mordred’s Speaker is an Ulric, twelve years older than Mordred himself and Mordred can’t help but think that the Ulric who stepped into this position might hate Mordred a bit. That he’s resentful that Mordred’s birth had pulled him into the role Nyx now had to fulfill.

“Hey,” Nyx says, as he carries Mordred around atop his shoulders, “You ever coming down?”

“Hmm.” Mordred makes a considering noise. “No.”

“Not even for dinner?”

Mordred grins and knows that Nyx can’t see it. “Not even for dinner.”

Nyx does his best to be kind to Mordred, but Mordred still thinks that older boy hates Mordred for the path that they both have to tread.

* * *

Galahd is burning, the city Mordred and Nyx were staying in, Nyx’s hometown where his best friend and family reside is set ablaze as Imperial forces rain bombs and gunfire upon its populace. The screams of the dead and dying fill the air until Mordred can’t tell whether what he is hearing are the screams of those dead or if the alive but dying yell just as loudly.

Mordred scrambles, despite the screams in his ears, he grabs the hand of a woman wailing in the streets and tries to drag her away. Tries to get her to move and hide and yet she will not move. She screams louder, and it’s the only thing Mordred can focus on.

“Stop,” Mordred pleads, “Please we need to move-” 

Bang.

The woman’s jaw drops in a noiseless death cry.

Mordred blinks and the corpse falls limply to the ground.

It’s only then he realizes he’s still clutching her hand. It’s only then he realizes that there’s an Imperial gun trained on him and the dead whisper to him that the man behind it is human.

I hate him, a child’s voice whispers, Tell him that, I hate him.

“Freya hates you.” The words fall from Mordred’s mouth like stones dropped into water. “She hates what you’re doing.” And Mordred feels detached from his body, as though he’s viewing everything from a distance. As though he’s merely a spectator rather than someone participating in an event.

“How do you know that name?” The man behind the helmet asks and Mordred thinks his voice is trembling. But Mordred doesn’t get to answer, as a kukri impales itself in the eye holes of the man’s helmet.

Nyx, Mordred thinks as his hand is grabbed by a cursing young man.

“Nyx,” Mordred says, and ignores the way rain splatters onto their face and soaks their clothing. When did it start raining? “Nyx what about-”

“Dead,” Nyx’s voice is broken and furious, “Dead and gone and maybe if you-” Nyx cuts himself off, because although Nyx can he cruel, he knows that Mordred is still a child.

He knows that Mordred doesn’t deserve his anger but Ramuh it’s tempting to lash out.

“I’m sorry,” Mordred says regardless and Nyx looks back to see the boys red hair plastered to his face and his white eyes almost glowing, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Nyx says and drags Mordred into an alley so they can avoid Imperial troops easier, “Me too.”

Galahd is burning, and not even the screams of the dead can stop it.

* * *

Those who are Twice-born are rare. A person who is Twice-born being born into a family of Hearers? Unheard of. Which is why when Mordred falls asleep to the rocking of a ship on ocean water, he doesn’t think much of the burning around his neck. And yet when he wakes from dreams of a life not fully lived and a death that could have been avoided he casts his gaze to the metal roof of the cabin he’s packed in with twenty other people.

Gingerly, he touches his neck and isn’t surprised to find raised skin in the shape of lightning there.

When Nyx wakes, he takes one look at the scars on Mordred’s neck and curses softly as he starts to dig out the scarf Selena had made him from the small packs they had managed to salvage.

Thrusting it toward Mordred Nyx says one thing.

“Put it on.” When Mordred hesitates Nyx sighs like he’s annoyed. “We don’t need to attract attention. Put it on.”

Mordred nods.

He hides his scars with the scarf.

* * *

Insomnia, Mordred finds, is odd. Or perhaps he’s the odd one. Either way, the whispers of the Astrals had only gotten stronger the closer they came to the city until Bahamut’s voice was almost constant. It was not loud, as it was before, rather it dulled to a never-ending stream of whispers about sacrifice, about the greater good, and Mordred hates it.

Bahamut, Mordred thinks, is full of it. Of course no one in Insomnia would share his thoughts, as Bahamut is the patron deity of the city and more importantly, the patron of the ruling family.

So Mordred deals with it. He deals with living with Nyx, who hates him, and Libertus, who Mordred is certain hates him as well, because Nyx had refused to hand Mordred over to Insomnia’s Child Services.

“I’m your Speaker,” Nyx had said, firm and unrelenting, “I’m not just going to leave you.”

And life went on. And Mordred almost forgot that he had died, almost forgot about his past life, but each time he looked in the mirror there were lightning bolt scars on his neck. So he took to covering them. With turtlenecks, with scarves, with whatever he had on hand he covered his neck to avoid curious eyes from those who didn’t know what the scars meant. To avoid knowing and pitying eyes from those who did.

And life went on, and when Mordred met a boy with blond hair and blue eyes when they were paired together for a science project.

“I’m Mordred,” Mordred introduces himself.

“Prompto.” The boy seems unsure of himself but Mordred is patient.

“So,” Mordred says, “Got any ideas?”

* * *

Prompto becomes Mordred’s first, and only friend during his stay in Insomnia. Prompto listens to Mordred when Mordred has too much to say and not enough people to say it to; and in return Mordred helps Prompto exercise and drags Prompto back to his and Nyx’s and Libertus’ apartment so that Libertus can teach Prompto how to actually cook healthy.

Prompto’s happy gaze when he looks at the plate of food he helped make makes Mordred’s heart soar.

“You know,” Mordred says one day when they are in middle-school as both of them laze about on the school field, “You’re going to be great, Prom.”

Despite not looking at him, Mordred can almost see Prompto’s blush.

“You don’t know that!” Prompto protests, “I could wind up being a total loser.”

“Nah,” Mordred denies, “There’s only room for one loser in this relationship and it’s me.”

“You’re not a loser, Dred,” Prompto says, “You’re- better than I could ever be.”

“Not true, you’ll be greater than me, just watch.”

* * *

Mordred leaves. Because he cannot stand Bahamut’s voice getting louder, because he cannot stand the itch under his skin as the dead tell him to leave.

“I need to go,” Mordred tells Nyx who has devoted himself to King and country, “Can you help me set up an apprenticeship with a Hunter?”

Nyx is silent then-

“Will you let me come with you?”

“No,” Mordred says, “That’s not your place.”

“You haven’t relieved me of my title.”

“Then consider this official,” Mordred says, and stands to his full height, “Nyx Ulric, from this day forward you are no longer a speaker of Clan Vitae. Your duties will be taken on by your Hearer, Mordred Vitae, until such a time can be found that he finds another. You are hereby stripped of your title and responsibility as Speaker.”\

Nyx says nothing but something eases in his shoulders.

“Alright,” Nyx says, “I know a guy.”

* * *

Years pass, and Mordred does his best to keep in contact with Nyx and Libertus.

Years pass, and Mordred only ever speaks with Prompto through a phone or text.

Years pass, and Bahamut’s voice only grows louder.

* * *

Mordred smiles, his feet swinging as he looks over the menu at Taka’s. 

“Think I’ll just have a milkshake,” Mordred decides and looks up at Taka who almost groans at Mordred’s choice.

“Ya can’t live off of milkshakes,” Taka scolds him even as the older man sets about making Mordred’s usual. A strawberry milkshake with far too much whipped cream on top.

“I eat other things!” Mordred says, “Like…french fries.”

“That’s only because you can dip them in milkshakes.”

“Guilty as charged!” Mordred can’t help but rock a little in excitement as Taka places his milkshake in front of him. “Seriously though, I do eat other things.”

Take opens his mouth to respond, only for the bell on the door to ring and for him to get distracted greeting new customers.

“Welcome!” Taka greets, cheerful, “What can I do for ya?”

“Cindy said you might have some Hunts available?” A lazy but hesitant drawl comes from behind Mordred and Mordred almost freezes. He’s heard that voice before, in class while he and Prompto passed notes to each other while everyone was busy looking at the prince.

“That I do! You’re lucky Mordred here hasn’t taken all of them yet.”

Mordred rolls his eyes and is about to respond when a voice he’s more familiar with speaks. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Prompto says and Mordred spins around in his seat to come face to face with Prompto’s shocked blue eyes, “Mordred?!” Prompto looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

Mordred raises a hand in greeting.

“Hey Prom,” Mordred says, “Long time no see.”


	2. beauty despite daylight

_Beauty despite_   
_daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn_   
_mounting in your throat._

\- Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous.

* * *

Mordred has no beads. A side effect of his vocation, of being able to Hear, of being expected to Listen but not to Speak. 

There is a reason that each Hearer is paired with a Speaker. Those Who Hear cannot be trusted to guide the living, not when the Hearers themselves dwell so close to beings both dead and eternal. It would be easy, the Clans had reasoned in the Times Before, for a Hearer to guide them down a path to ruin, to lose themselves in the art of Listening and become more akin to a Spirit than a human. And while the wisdom of the dead should not be forsaken, for one of the living to dwell so close to the other side does not bode well for those around them.

Death isn’t bad. It is something to be honored and feared but it is a force of change, of ending.

Death isn’t bad. It is a mere fact of life. All things must come to an end, and so too must human lives. Which is perhaps why the public of Galahd talks about Hearers in whispers. 

If they Fall, the legends say, They will be immortal.

If they Fall, the people whisper, They are no longer human.

* * *

Noctis is silent as Prompto splutters beside him, as though seeing the white-eyed man in front of them is a shock.

As though the two know each other. And Prompto and the redhead do know each other, Noctis thinks, remembering the jealousy that roared through his veins whenever Prompto talked about Mordred. 

If he hadn’t had you, Noctis remembers thinking, remembers being selfish, Then I could have had you before now. Noctis is a selfish being, he knows this as well as he knows the magic that runs under his skin. Almost breaking out, breaking through and into daylight but not quite.

Not yet.

It takes a moment for Noctis to realize that Prompto is dragging him toward the redhead, and that the redhead just looks amused at the antics of the two of them.

“Prom,” Noctis complains and tugs his arm out of Prompto’s grip, “You don’t have to drag me.”

Prompto flushes to his ears and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Sorry!” he says and gestures at Mordred, “But this- this is Mordred! We knew each other as kids!”

I know, Noctis thinks but doesn’t say it. “He’s the one you hung around with?”

“Uh, yeah!” And Prompto rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t think we’d run into him out here though.”

“You know I became a Hunter,” Mordred points out with an amused smile on his face, “Besides, it’s not like we don’t talk almost everyday.”

“Well, yeah!” Prompto says, “But I didn’t think you’d be out here!”

Mordred laughs, and for a moment Noctis thinks that Mordred is covered in light. Magic lighting up his veins from within.

No one else seems to notice, and the moment passes.

Noctis is left staring at Mordred and wondering. The magic under Noctis’ skin hums, bright and eager and Noctis cannot help but look at Mordred and feel terribly, terribly selfish.

Prompto’s not yours, he thinks even as Noctis drapes his magic around Prompto, an action that should have gone unnoticed by all those outside of his retinue but Mordred blinks at Prompto, his white eyes glowing for the briefest second as he eyes Prompto’s shoulders where Noctis has draped his magic around the blond.

And then Mordred grins and shakes his head.

“You’ve got a protective set of friends huh?” Mordred asks Prompto, jumping out of his seat and it’s then Noctis realizes that Mordred is shorter than even Prompto. Still, the height difference doesn’t seem to stop Mordred from patting Prompto on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mordred says as he reads Prompto’s worried looked, “Pretty sure I could handle your group of pretty boys if they wanted a fight.”

Prompto laughs nervously, and glances over at Noctis and the others just in time for Gladio to scoff and step forward.

“That a threat?” Gladio asks.

Mordred grins again, and it’s then Noctis notices the fangs in Mordred’s mouth.

“Not at all,” Mordred says, and shoves his hands in his pockets, “But if you want it to be, then know that if any of you ever hurt him I’d kill you.”

“Some shovel talk,” Noctis says.

“Do I need to go into detail?” Mordred asks, and Noctis suddenly realizes he isn’t the only predator in the room.

“You do not!” Prompto intervenes, “No more shovel talk!”

“Oh c’mon, Prompto.”

“No!” Prompto pokes Mordred in the chest and Mordred frowns. “No more threatening my other friends.”

Mordred sighs. 

“Not even for fun?” 

“Not even for fun.” Prompto says sternly. 

“Fine.”

* * *

“You seem to know each other well,” Ignis notes as they sit down together after Mordred offers to pay for their meal.

Mordred shrugs, then scowls as Prompto dips his french in Mordred’s strawberry milkshake. Looking at the blond, Mordred frowns at Prompto’s shit eating grin and tugs his milkshake closer.

“I will kill you if you touch my milkshake,” Mordred tells Prompto who snorts in amusement. 

“No you won’t.”

“It will be a messy death.”

“As messy as your room was?”

“How do you still remember that?”

Prompto taps his temple and then turns to look at Ignis.

“Oh hell yeah,” he answers Ignis as Mordred sulks between them, “Mordred and I used to be real close. His caretakers used to let me stay over whenever I wanted.”

“That’s cause they liked you.”

Gladio smirks. “He is very likable. Almost-”

“-Chocobo like.” Mordred finishes Gladio’s sentence and they share a grin.

“Exactly.” The two men are smug as Prompto splutters protests.

Noctis chuckles in amusement at his friend. “They have a point, Prom,” he notes, “Your hair is the right color at least.”

“Bro,” Prompto says, “Noctis, buddy, I hate you.”

Noctis rolls his eyes and steals one of Prompto’s fries.

Mordred does the same and Noctis and Mordred share a scheming look that does not go unnoticed.

“No,” Ignis says before any plan can be put into action, “You two will leave Prompto’s fries alone.” Even as he says this, a smile quirks the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mordred says, rolling his eyes, “Anyway, you guys looking for hunts?”

“Yeah,” Gladio answers, “Yeah looking to make some extra cash.”

“I take it the fancy car is yours then?”

“How’d you figure?”

Mordred gives Gladio a look that asks if he’s stupid. “It’s the only city made car out here,” Mordred points out dryly, “It was easy to guess.”

Gladio gives a sheepish grin. “I suppose you got us there.”

“Damn straight I do.” Mordred says, then winces as the dead join Bahamut’s chorus in his ears. Beside him Prompto makes a concerned noise. 

“You still getting migraines?”

Mordred laughs.

“Yeah,” he confirms, waving off Prompto’s concern, “It’s nothing though, I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Migraines?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah.” Mordred shifts in his seat. “Had them ever since I was little, Doctor’s don’t know what’s wrong so I’ve gotten used to them.”

Noctis frowns at Mordred, as though Mordred is a puzzle.

Mordred grins again and pulls out a bill for a Hunt from his pocket. “I have a Hunt here, pretty easy as it’s only Sabertusks. It’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Taka comes over grabs the bill, “Last time you went out by yourself with a ‘simple headache’ as you called it you came back bloodied. You ain’t handing this over to them just so you have an excuse to take a harder Hunt.”

“Come on Taka,” Mordred tries to coax the man into the handing the bill back, “I’m a Jack, I can handle it.”

“A Jack?” Ignis asks incredulous, “As in, Alleyway Jack?”

Mordred nods, his eyes not leaving Taka. “Yeah, earned that rank about three months ago.”

“From being reckless and taking on a Behemoth by himself.”

Prompto chokes on his drink. “What?” Prompto says after he’s done coughing.

Mordred is aware suddenly of the eyes on him and shrugs. “It was too dangerous for anyone else and killed the last Hunting Group that went after it.”

“So Mordred here decided to take it down himself,” Taka scowls, “Because he’s an idiot.”

“I’m a smart idiot,” Mordred retorts, “I was prepared!”

Taka looks at him.

Bahamut roars in his ears. 

They come, the god screams, They come we cannot stop them-

Mordred winces, pressing a hand to his forehead as if to ward off the screams.

Prompto moves and helps him to his feet when Mordred goes to stand. 

“Thanks, Prom.” Mordred manages a weak smile at his friend. “I think- I think I’m going to go lie down.”

The Prophecy, the dead groan and Mordred blinks as the ghosts fill the space around them before fading just as rapidly as they appeared.

The Prophecy, they whisper as they leave.

“Fuck,” Mordred says, “The Hunt is yours, if you want it, I gotta go and lay down.”

“Do you need help?” Ignis asks, Mordred waves him off and pays Taka.

“I’m good,” Mordred says, “The Caravan’s aren’t far.”

* * *

When Mordred reaches the Caravan, he falls asleep as soon as he hits the sheets.

Mordred doesn’t dream often. When he does dream it’s the nonsensical ramblings of men long dead or the cries and promises of the Astrals.

Mordred doesn’t dream often, tonight is one of the rare times he does and everything is bathed in crystal.

Mordred blinks, stares at the blue light reflected in the crystal around him and is reminded of Noctis’ magic, of how it felt when it wrapped around Prompto. Noctis feels like daylight, Mordred thinks, He feels like daylight and fire. The heat of the sun distilled into human form.

He feels bright, Mordred thinks, and can’t help but wonder what he himself feels like. He believes he is sharp, all hard edges and nothing soothing. He believes he is dark, endless and void of light. Mordred thinks that if Noctis is light and sun distilled then Mordred must be his opposite. Mordred must be something so empty that it would be easy for any one thing to take him and make him into something he isn’t.

Mordred looks at the crystals around him, and wonders how long he has to live without a Speaker. Not much longer, Mordred thinks as a shadow falls on him, winged and dark and Mordred looks up and meets the eyes of Bahamut.

He could compare the eyes of Bahamut to Noctis. Bot hare blue-eyed after all.

But Bahamut’s eyes are not nearly as kind or curious.

* * *

Noctis does not know what to think about Mordred. He does not know what to think about the man who seems so bright, so sharp and deadly it feels like there is something uncontrolled about him. Noctis does not know what to think of the man who felt Noctis' claim on his friends and seemed to dismiss it. He does not know what to think about the man with white eyes that seemed almost glowing in the dim light at Taka's.

Noctis cannot help but think of his fathers warnings about not using magic, and wonder if they would apply to Mordred.

* * *

Mordred curses loudly as he hears the sounds of a charge animal, the dead Hunters behind him whispering a warning to go faster to save those he could.

Mordred comes onto the scene with a gun drawn and as soon as the animal -Scourge tainted, the dead sing to him- hears his shrill whistles and diverts it's attention to him Mordred takes aim and fires a shot directly in through one of it's eyes.

The Garula lands in a graceless heap on the ground, and Mordred breathes a sigh of relief. The other men turn to look at him as the Garlua dissipates into nothing.

"What the fuck?" Gladio asks.

Mordred raises a brow. "Did you really think you could have taken on a Scourge infected animal by yourselves?" Mordred asks and shakes his head. "That thing was-" he stops himself, the dead have told him of the Scourge and what it does. He has listened to them tell him about how they had been human before they were daemons. He has heard the screeches of the dead within the cries of daemons and yet-

He cannot bring himself to tell them.

"It doesn't matter," he finishes, "But if you ever come across another one of these hunts, you need to be better prepared and not head in blindly. They're both stronger and faster than your average Hunt."

"Really," Ignis says, "We hadn't noticed."

"Sure you hadn't." Mordred levels Ignis an unimpressed look. "I'm just telling you, be careful."

"How did you get wind of us fighting them anyway?" Noctis asks.

"Dave," Mordred says blunt as can be, "When I told him you were newbies he looked like he was going to die of shock."

"Aww, and you came to make sure we were okay." Prompto grins at him. "That's so sweet!"

"Oh shut up," Mordred tells him, "Of course I came to make sure you lot were okay. Why wouldn't I?"

No one can answer that.

Mordred rolls his eyes. "Whatever, there's still plenty of daylight, we can get to Hammerhead if we hurry."

"Onward!"

"This isn't a video game Prompto," Noctis says, but there's an amused glint in his eyes when Mordred looks back to them.

"Course it's not! Video games aren't this cheery!"

* * *

Mordred stays around long enough to see them off.

"Have fun, you four," he says, standing next to his motorbike, "I'll be here for a bit, but I doubt we'll see each other again anytime soon."

Prompto drags Mordred into a hug that Mordred returns without hesitating.

"I'm gonna miss you!" Prompto says as they release each other.

"I'll miss you too, Prom." Mordred grins. "But who knows? Next time I'm in the area I might come visit you in the city."

"That would be dope."

"Wouldn't it?" Mordred's grin turns mischievous. "Then I can tell your new friends all your embarassing middle school stories-"

"You will not!"

"Won't I?"

"No!"

Mordred and Prompto laugh.

"Regardless," Ignis says, "If you're ever in the area, I would be pleased to see you again."

"Same here," Noctis says, "Not everyday you meet someone Prom likes."

"He is picky isn't he?" Mordred agrees.

Gladio scoffs. "He is, the only reason people don't think so is because he's a cheery and pretty face."

"That face could get away with murder."

"Hey!" Prompto protests.

Mordred raises a brow. 

Prompto looks away with a blush staining his cheeks.

"Exactly proving my point," Mordred teases as the four men shuffle into the Regalia, "Have a fun wedding, Your Highness."

"It's a wedding."

"Eat lots of cake," Mordred advises and waves at them, "Now get going! The bride isn't going to marry herself!"

That prompts a laugh, and Mordred can't help but shake his head fondly as they drive away.

A sharp pain radiates at the back of his head and his vision blurs.

A woman in blue and white stands before him, blonde hair shining in the light.

Mordred barely manages to stumble into the caravan before he collapses.

**Author's Note:**

> ta-daa!!! anyway, tell me what you think? i only have a vague idea of where this is headed and its mainly written because i want to Write One Scene but uh, yeah, nothing goes according to canon in this


End file.
